Pride & Prejudice
by suzanami
Summary: Before leaving for college, Cherry gets the chance to reconcile the wrongs she's committed against someone dear to her.


**Pride & Prejudice**  
By suzanami, 2006. Do not copy or redistribute without permission.  
The Outsiders is © copyright S. E. Hinton. I'm just playing with some of the characters.

I'm leaving for college tomorrow.

It's been a crazy summer, getting ready for school. Graduation was a huge relief. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Somehow, looking back, it seems that the girl who walked those halls was the most superficial person I've ever met. I know you can't completely change over the summer, but I still feel different from the girl called Cherry, the cheerleader, the girl whose boyfriend was killed by greasers. Yeah, high school kids remember stuff.

I'm both excited and apathetic about college. I know. How does that work? I guess I'm excited to get out of here, to grow up, to make something out of myself. To not be "a Soc" anymore. To leave my high school nickname behind and be known as Sherry. To just be me. But there's a feeling of apathy and anxiety that coats all that. I don't know why, but it does. I don't know how to explain myself anymore, and I used to be so good at that.

I'm just so sick of having a fake life. Sick of being called the little rich girl. Sick of people pretending to be my friends as long as it's convenient. Marcia's the only one who's always been by my side, ever since we were in elementary, and she's going nearly across the country to school.

I reach the cemetery and slam my car door behind me. The August sun is warm, but there's a chill in the breeze. Man, am I tired of the contradictions.

I want to visit Bob's grave once more before I leave. I still think about him every day. I'm over him emotionally, of course; not carrying a torch or anything, but the way I lost him still stings. I've had casual boyfriends here and there since, but I'll always remember him.

A cool gust of wind blows my hair to one side and I shake it back into place, dropping a bundle of rosemary onto the grave. I read once that it's used in funeral wreaths as a symbol of remembrance. I blame the fact that I read too much. And I'm not the type to leave ornate bouquets.

I sigh as the wind picks up again and begin to knot my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck, just to get it out of my way, as I head for my car. Glancing to my right, who do I see but Ponyboy Curtis, standing over a grave. I swallow. I haven't spoken to him in over a year. Haven't had a conversation with him since... well, since the trial two years ago. We barely said hello in the halls. I feel guilty now, and petty. What would my friends've thought? I was already known for being involved in the whole incident sophomore year, and I was afraid to tarnish my reputation further. Too scared to be associated with the local thugs.

Gosh, but guilt can eat at you. And right now, seeing him standing there, staring at the cheap headstone, it's gnawing at every part of me. I hadn't thought to say goodbye to Ponyboy before I left. The thought never even crossed my mind. That makes me feel even worse.

I find myself walking up behind him and just standing there. He's three feet away. And I don't know what to say. I've purposely ignored him whenever I could, and there's no decent excuse for it, other than pride and prejudice.

I hated that book.

I take a deep breath and step closer. My hand seems to move of its own accord as it brushes against his. He starts and turns to see who snuck up on him. His expression softens. "Hey, Cherry."

"Hi, Ponyboy," I reply quietly. What else should I say? My eyes fall on the headstone to see Johnny Cade's name crudely carved. Johnny was a sweet kid; he deserved better than such a cheap grave. I remembered Bob's expensive one, and all the hundreds of flowers that were left when he died, and still were sometimes. Johnny's donned a bunch of forget-me-nots, tied with a piece of fishing line. "How've you been?"

He turns his head and we're both facing the grave now, but he hasn't moved his hand. "Pretty good, actually. Except for the fact..." He swallows and his eyebrows knit together. "Except that Soda was drafted. He's over in 'Nam right now."

I feel my blood run cold and I blurt, "Is that why you're here?" As soon as I say it, I want to take it back. It was awfully inconsiderate. I look at his profile to see him blinking furiously, like he's trying not to cry. "I'm sorry," I whisper, pulling my hand away.

"No, it's okay." His fingers catch mine, but he keeps staring straight ahead, not at anything, it seems. "You're right." He inhales deeply and his shoulders rise and fall.

"It was tactless," I insist.

He actually grins, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "But you could tell. We haven't talked in two years and you can still read me like a book." I keep watching him, but he seems fascinated with the horizon. "I don't know why, but that surprises me."

After a moment, I step up to stand next to him, rather than behind his left shoulder. I find my fingers linking through his, but I let them. "Forget-me-nots," I murmur, wanting to break the uncomfortable silence. I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. "I was here to see Bob. I left him rosemary."

"Both symbolize remembrance."

"Yeah, well, great minds think alike." He finally smiles. "We're still kind of similar, aren't we?" I add.

He nods and turns to face me. "I guess we're just funny kind of folk. Neither of us naturally fit in, do we?"

"One of us tries," I whisper.

"Yeah." He looks away again. "I know."

That awkward silence again. After a new minutes, I take a breath and say, "I'm sorry for being such a snob," and I can't believe how much lighter my chest feels. I can't even believe I said it.

He makes a funny sound in this throat and turns to me. I can't read his eyes, but he's just staring at me. I'd step away, but his fingers are still caught in mine. "It's okay," he finally says. "I know the score. I didn't expect anything different."

"It was still petty and childish and selfish," I argue, frowning. Why can't he be more difficult? I deserve it. "You're a nice kid, and I like talking to you, but I snubbed you whenever I got the chance."

He shrugged and smiled at me. This time he smiles with his eyes, too. They look really green in the afternoon sunlight. "You're talking to me now."

"Like that makes up for it?"

"Yeah, it does, actually."

I do step back this time, but he's still holding my hand. "I feel bad," I finally murmur.

"I forgive you," is the equally quiet reply.

The wind kicks up again and I shiver as it cuts through my cotton jacket. When he reaches out to embrace me, I let him, leaning against his shoulder and wrapping my arms across my chest insecurely. He's sixteen, half a head taller than me now. He looks so much like Soda it's making me sick. "I hope Soda's okay," I whisper.

"Me, too."

I used to avoid him, afraid of what others thought. Now, I'm standing here, letting him hold me, and I find myself - finally - not caring.


End file.
